08.Dying to Sin Page 7

  ‘What are you thinking about, Ben?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘I’m just looking at the programme.’

  ‘You’re not thinking about work?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘No “of course” about it. I know you.’

  Reading down the list, Cooper found the names of the Chinese police officers. Apart from Inspector Chu, the performers were women. Their names were all local, too – Beeley, Holmes, Wragg, Marsden, Brindley. The latter was probably related to the actor playing Abanazar, since they had the same surname. He wasn’t sure which of them he was supposed to be watching out for.

  ‘Liz, what are your friends called again?’

  ‘Cheryl Hague and Harriet Marsden.’

  ‘Hague? Do I know her?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Is she the attractive blonde we met in the pub last week?’

  ‘Hey. I thought you said not to talk.’

  A storm of booing and jeering greeted Abanazar as he grasped the magic lamp triumphantly and rolled an artificial rock across the cave entrance to entomb Aladdin. That meant there would be a genie making his appearance soon.

  Cooper glanced at Liz, but she was completely absorbed. And she was right, she was starting to know him. They’d been going out for a few months now, a lot longer than any previous girlfriend had lasted. One of the things he liked was that he discovered new aspects of her character all the time, and glimpsed unsuspected parts of her life. She surprised him constantly. This year, she’d even bought a Christmas present for his cat.

  And he hadn’t realized Liz was interested in pantomimes until a few days ago. He supposed he was lucky she wasn’t actually up there on stage in a costume. God forbid, she might even try to persuade him to join the cast.

  Cooper shuddered, then pulled his jacket closer, trying to give the impression he was cold rather than filled with revulsion.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Ben?’

  ‘Absolutely fine. Loving every minute.’

  And here they came, at last – the comedy policemen. A little troop of them, six or seven women of various sizes wearing tunics and tights, and carrying little comic truncheons. Their drooping Fu Manchu moustaches made them unrecognizable, but Liz seemed happy to cheer them indiscriminately.

  Well, perhaps they’d actually arrest the villain and Cooper could cheer, too. But in the meantime, they had to get through a few more awful jokes.

  When Aladdin was over, they squeezed out of the theatre with the crowds, hoping to find somewhere to eat before all the restaurants filled up. It wasn’t the first Aladdin Cooper had been to. He remembered seeing the same show at the same theatre when he was a teenager. In fact, he thought he’d probably watched slightly different versions of it three or four times.

  There were only a handful of traditional pantomimes, and they seemed to come round regularly, as if on a strict rota. Cinderella one year, Mother Goose the next. But he’d sometimes heard of different stories being used. Peter Pan, Sinbad the Sailor, Robinson Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe? A story with only two characters? Maybe he’d have to be a bit adventurous one year and seek out somewhere that was doing the show, to see how they bent the plot to introduce a pantomime dame on to a desert island.

  In Victoria Park, the fair was in full swing. Among the fairground rides, a big wheel spun green lights across the park as it turned, and a carousel made the faces of the crowd glow with pink luminescence. Free mince pies and glasses of mulled wine were being handed out to visitors.

  This was by far the busiest time of year in Edendale’s social calendar. There was an E Division pub crawl planned for later in the week. Another annual tradition. This year, the officers organizing it had settled on a theme – seasonal ales, which they intended to track down all over town. There were plenty to be found. Every year, the breweries produced beers like Rocking Rudolph, Hark and Black Christmas.

  But Cooper wouldn’t get a chance to try them. He wouldn’t be with his colleagues on the pub crawl this week, as he might have been in previous years. His priorities had changed in the last twelve months. He wasn’t quite so single as he used to be.

  ‘Well, if you won’t come for Christmas with me, at least you won’t forget the baptism service on Sunday, will you?’ said Liz.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. Yes, honestly.’

  Liz’s best friend had married a gym instructor two years ago, and their first baby was being baptized in Edendale on Sunday. He always thought ‘first baby’ when the subject came up, because he’d met the friend and he sensed she was the sort of woman who intended to have lots of children.

  ‘It’s church, so everybody will be dressed up, Ben.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You do have a suit and tie, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, er … absolutely.’

  Cooper thought of his brother squeezing into a suit for the first time this year. Now that he was too old to attend the Young Farmers’ Club Christmas Ball, Matt’s only social occasion had been the end-of-term nativity play at Josie’s primary school. Unlike the pantomime, this production had varied the usual plot. There had been no appearances by Mary or Joseph. In fact, there wasn’t even a role for the baby Jesus. Instead, the nativity story had been told from the point of view of the Bethlehem inn keeper and his family, exploring the impact on their lives. Having to deal with a sudden influx of shepherds and wise men, for a start. Well, lots of Peak District landlords would sympathize with the difficulty of mixing tourists with the locals.

  Matt hadn’t been impressed by the production, though. He was turning into a real diehard traditionalist as he aged. New ideas upset him.

  Later this week, Ben would be singing with the police male voice choir in the Methodist church, a concert for senior citizens, followed by a children’s party. The old folk loved it, though, especially around Christmas time. It was good PR, too.

  Cooper recalled when he’d first met Diane Fry on her transfer to Derbyshire from West Midlands Police. She’d been scornful of everything in those days, so prickly that he soon developed the habit of letting her comments go by unnoticed. When he’d told her about singing in the choir, she had been predictably derisive. ‘Do you sing soprano?’ she’d asked. ‘No. Tenor.’ And he hadn’t even seen the barb until much later.

  Oh, well. Fry had mellowed a bit since then, hadn’t she? Surely she had. Cooper frowned slightly. There was always the possibility that he’d just become very good at letting everything pass him by.

  When he lifted his hand off the gear stick, Liz took his fingers for a moment and held them gently.

  ‘Thanks for coming to the panto with me, Ben.’

  On the road out of town that night, taking Liz home to Bakewell, Cooper felt content. Below him, the sprawling outline of Edendale was marked by a network of lights, but most of the Peak District lay in darkness. After all that had happened in his life, things seemed to be coming right at last. He’d found someone he cared about. And, above all, he was in the only place he’d ever wanted to live in the world.

  With a surge of blind rage, Diane Fry grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her back, pulling her off balance and throwing her on to the bed.

  ‘Hey!’ gasped Angie, shocked by the sudden violence.

  ‘Angie, what the hell are you up to?’

  Diane could hear her voice coming out in a spiteful hiss. It sounded awful, but she couldn’t have changed it. Her throat was too tightly constricted by the flood of emotions overwhelming her. Anger, bitterness, a sense of betrayal. And other emotions she’d never experienced before, too fleeting to be pinned down and named.

  ‘Me?’ Angie tried to laugh it off, sitting up on the bed and straightening her sleeve as if it were just a family game, a bit of rough and tumble between siblings. ‘Sis, you know I’m always up to something. The original problem kid, that’s me.’

  ‘I’m not joking here. I want to know what you think you’re doing.’

  ‘Come on, Di. Lighten up.�
��

  Diane felt herself flushing angrily. She’d told herself she wouldn’t get angry with her sister. But here it was, all that rage, bubbling just below the surface. Anything could release it, a wrong word or an unguarded expression.

  ‘Don’t try to get round me, Angie,’ she said. ‘Just don’t try it. It might have worked once, but it doesn’t work on me now. Things have changed between us. I’m not your kid sister any more.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, really. You’ve got to start understanding that, or there’s no future between us.’

  ‘But that was always true, wasn’t it?’ snapped Angie. ‘We never had any future between us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We have a past, that’s all. That’s the only thing we share, the one factor we have in common. And that’s all it is – the past. We’d never have stayed together, Di. I know you couldn’t see it at the time, but I was always going to go my own way, and it wasn’t the same as yours. We’d have split up pretty soon, and you’d have gone off to your college and your police training feeling ashamed of your big sister. You ought to thank me for what I did. It was much the best way.’

  Diane felt the anger draining from her. It was replaced by a strange chill that crept over her skin, like the first indications of approaching flu.

  ‘But we’re back together again now. We have to think about what sort of future there’s going to be,’ she said. ‘We have to sort some things out to make that future work.’

  Angie got up from the bed, and Diane backed away to put some distance between them.

  ‘You haven’t been listening, have you?’ said Angie. ‘You just hear whatever you want to. I just said we have no future. Not just back then, but now, too. We have nothing in common, Di. And we never will have. If you imagine any different, you’re fooling yourself.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong.’

  ‘Oh dear. It doesn’t fit the image, does it? Had you built up some nice, rosy picture of Angie and Di settling down together, sharing girly chats about boyfriends and babies? Holding each other’s hands when we need a good cry, giggling in bed together over a couple of good books? It ain’t going to happen, Sis. So it’s about time you faced up to the real world.’

  ‘Look, I know you’ve changed. God knows, I’ve made allowances for that. All those years we were apart, we were bound to go our different ways –’

  ‘Changed? You’re damn right. Yes, I’m the one who’s grown up. I grew up a long time ago.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Using heroin isn’t a sign of being grown up, you know.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Diane took a step forward. She saw Angie begin to edge towards the door, and realized that her sister was actually scared of her. The physical outburst a few minutes ago had taken Angie by surprise and frightened her a little. She, too, had things to discover about her kid sister that she might not like very much.

  ‘Come on, we can make this work, Angie. We just have to be honest with each other.’

  ‘Oh, and you want me to go first, right? Confession time, is it? “Come on, dear, tell the nice police officer everything you know. How about the names and addresses of all your friends for a start?” Di, you’re just not getting it, are you?’

  Diane didn’t answer. Second by second, she was watching their relationship turn round, seeing her big sister become more and more uneasy in her presence, like a guilty child. For the first time in her life, Diane felt as though she was the one with the power. In some way, she had the ability to affect Angie’s life, instead of the other way about. She knew this, but she didn’t understand why. And the knowledge didn’t make her feel any better.

  Angie looked at her uncertainly, pulling on her jacket. ‘I’m off to work, then.’

  ‘You can’t escape for ever. We’ll have to sort things out between us some time soon.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.’

  As she watched Angie sneak towards the door, Diane found herself torn by conflicting impulses – a desire to bring her sister closer, but the urge to hurt her at the same time.

  ‘There’s one thing you’re just not getting either, Angie,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me about it some other time.’

  Then her sister had slipped out of the room, and her feet were clattering on the stairs as she ran towards the front door.

  Diane stood at the top of the stairs, unable to control something inside her that refused to let go of the argument.

  ‘And why did you go to Ben Cooper?’ she shouted. ‘Right at the beginning, why did you go to him?’

  Angie stopped, but only to shout back. ‘Because he cares about people.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Well, I care about people, too. I just don’t care about you.’

  As soon as the front door slammed, Diane had begun to regret her last words. But it was too late by then.

  She glared at one of the students from the next flat, who’d stuck her head round the corner to see what was going on. As the student disappeared, Diane wondered whether she might ever get another chance to tell Angie what it was that she just wasn’t getting.

  Diane went back into the flat and began to pick up the cushions that had been knocked on the floor. She was surprised by how much mess there was, almost as if the place had been broken into and ransacked. If it had been a crime scene she was visiting, she would have said there was evidence of a violent altercation.

  Was the heroin still the problem with Angie? She didn’t think so, but addicts did need large amounts of money on a regular basis. Many women were out there on the streets to feed their habit, and for no other reason. Heroin or crack cocaine, or both. OK, drugs might not have put them on the street in the first place, but it was heroin that kept them there.

  Diane knew that drug dealers from the big cities had moved into smaller towns like Edendale years ago. You could find drugs everywhere, pretty much anything you wanted. They were cheap, too. Perhaps it was some kind of marketing ploy to expand the customer base, but intelligence showed that Edendale was one of the least expensive towns in the country for buying drugs. Last she heard, heroin was going for about twenty pounds a bag.

  It had just gradually crept in, that link between heroin and prostitution. Now it was unbreakable. The vicious circle was in play.

  Diane was surprised by a sudden taste in her mouth. Dark, bitter, comforting. It was a very familiar taste, so full of memories that it seemed to sum up the whole of her life, all the low points and loneliest moments encapsulated in one brief tingle of the taste buds.

  It was the return of her old craving for chocolate, and the familiarity was so intense it was almost shocking. She hadn’t thought about the craving for months, not really. But some residual instinct had leaked into the nerve endings of her mouth, triggered by a moment of stress.

  It wasn’t so easy to get rid of an addiction. It could still creep up and surprise you long after you thought you’d beaten it. It lurked in your body and waited for a moment of weakness. But Diane Fry knew she wasn’t weak, not any more.

  Addictions were for everyone else, but not for her.

  7

  Friday

  Jamie Ward woke up late next day. For a while, he lay in bed listening for noises in the house, or in the street outside, not sure what he was expecting to hear. His parents’ semi-detached was in a comfortable suburb of Edendale, close to the best secondary school and the nicest church. There was rarely anything interesting to hear. The sirens were always across town, on the housing estates.

  At first, Jamie’s mind shied away from remembering the day before, but gradually the memories crept back. All the details were still there, fresh and vivid. The mud, the police, the argument. The hand.

  And then he had a sudden conviction that this couldn’t just be a normal day, not after what had happened at Pity Wood Farm. It was inconceivable that life would go on in its ordinary, routine way. Getting up, having breakfast, going for a jog, phoning his mates for a chat. It just wouldn’t fee
l right.

  Jamie went into the bathroom and found his muddy jeans on top of the laundry basket. The first day he’d turned up for work at the building site, he’d been wearing his trainers. His second best pair, not the cool ones he went out with his friends in. And Nikolai had laughed at him. So had all the other blokes, though not quite so obviously.

  ‘Little Jamie, do you want to lose your toes?’ Nikolai had said, lighting up a Benson and Hedges and blowing the smoke towards his feet. ‘Boy, you won’t last a day on my site. We’ll find you some proper boots, OK?’

  ‘OK, Nikolai.’

  ‘Call me Nik.’

  Most of what had gone on at the site was a mystery to Jamie. The brickies and carpenters and plasterers were skilled men who worked quickly and often silently, wielding specialist tools he didn’t even know the names for.

  Some of it was obvious – the trenches dug for the new drains, the gravel laid for site access. But a few things had been odd. If he’d felt more comfortable with the other men, he would have asked them the reasons for things they did. Jamie knew that you should ask if you didn’t understand something, and not worry about looking stupid. If you didn’t ask questions, you’d never know the answers, and that was more stupid, wasn’t it?

  The only good thing about the way he’d been treated on the site was that Nikolai and the men hadn’t always worried about whether he was hanging around with them, or how hard he was working.

  Jamie showered and hunted out some clean clothes. Then he went to find his mother, to see if he could borrow her car to drive over to Rakedale.

  Cooper arrived at work that morning to find forty-three new emails in his inbox. No spam, no jokes, no personal emails – in accordance with force policy, the IT department had blocked all those. No, these forty-three were all work-related. Not necessarily related to his own work, of course. Unfortunately, he had to open every one of them and read it all the way through before he could be sure it wasn’t relevant to him.

  Today, he’d received a fairly typical batch. There were the usual requests from the Criminal Justice Unit for completed statements and copies of notebook entries. There was a series of directives and advisory notices from the senior management team, many of them related to key performance indicators. He had a couple of emails from the Police Federation, and there were notifications of five entirely new policies and procedures, all with start dates in the next month.